


Wearing Down Life

by kristin



Category: Trigun (anime or manga)
Genre: Gen, Yuletide, challenge:Yuletide 2008, recipient:anythingbutblue
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2008-12-25
Updated: 2008-12-25
Packaged: 2017-10-15 06:18:18
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,737
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/157881
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/kristin/pseuds/kristin
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>The house was huge, and brown, of course - everything in this goddamn town was too brown. As they approached, Wolfwood noted two sets of eyes peering down from two different windows in the house. He gave a jaunty little wave to one and feigned tipping his imaginary hat to the other.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Wearing Down Life

**Author's Note:**

> Thanks so much to Shu for the fabulous beta job.

When they reached the town, Wolfwood took off. The trip had been long and the next time Vash opened his mouth Wolfwood was going to take a swing at him. He waved to the girls as he swung out of the jeep. "Off to save some souls now." He lit his cigarette. "Very important." He slung his cross over his back and he inspected his surroundings.

The town was small and brown all over. The houses were wood and the streets were dirt. The sun was filtered through a haze of dust that turned the light taupe. Ignoring the sound of Meryl and Millie's high pitched conversation about finding an inn and writing a report, he turned south. The houses there were in slightly neater rows and larger, though still lacking any variation in color.

He made sure he had his confession booth at the ready and dropped his cigarette butt. He hadn't been lying; he was looking for souls in need of saving. Okay, bilking rather than saving, but they sure enjoyed it. He wandered in the southerly direction until he came upon a small bar with a discreet sign. The patrons here would have no problem paying his confessional fee.

He shifted the cross for optimum display and opened the door to the bar. It was cleaner than the places he usually went for fun, with glasses that looked like they had been washed more than once in their lifetime. It wasn't too full. He assessed the patrons: two men in neat clothes with a ledger between them, a couple eating sushi and four men in various states of early drunkenness, three together and one apart.

Wolfwood made a show of placing the cross down carefully, leaning it against the wall closest to the door. He sat down next to the solitary drunk. "Hello friend," he said in his practiced 'bring the sinners to Jesus' voice. "Do you mind if I join you?"

The man looked at him blearily, blinking a couple times to clear the alcoholic fog from his eyes. Once focused, his eyes flickered from Wolfwood's cross to his collar. "You a preacher?" he asked, his liquor breath seeping across the table towards Wolfwood.

"Why, yes I am. And you know what, you look like a man in need of some soul saving." Wolfwood made his grin stretch farther to look unthreatening. The man relaxed, his shoulders slumping down and his hand coming up from where it had been patting along his waist. The fool probably had probably been reaching for a gun. Wolfwood extended his hand, saying, "I'm Nicholas D. Wolfwood."

There was no response to this, other than a nodding of the head that was more the result of the bottle than any kind of courtesy. Wolfwood decided to call him Blah in honor of this blah little town, since he had not bothered to give his name. When it was apparent that Blah wasn't going to reply, Wolfwood continued, "You look like you have troubles, my good sir, and I, well, I have just the thing for you." Noticing the rather downward trajectory of the man was taking in his seat, Wolfwood began scoping out his next target. This guy was a bust.

"You can't tell anybody what people say to you, right?" The words didn't come from the now slumbering Blah, but from the waitress who had arrived to take his order. She was as brown as the town, dusky skin with dark hair and eyes. Even if she hadn't been carrying too much weight, her plain face would have kept her from ever being called beautiful.

One thing was certain; Wolfwood didn't want to hear her confession. Women like this were too often broken. He didn't want to care about her problems. He tapped out a cigarette and leaned back in his chair. "You been sinning lately?" he asked insouciantly.

She looked at him blankly. The poor women had no brains to mitigate her appearance. Well, all God's creatures and whatnot. "You gonna order?" she asked him.

"No," he said decisively. After traveling for days with that do-gooder Vash and the insurance girls' pinciples and sweetness, he wanted no part of any sob story. He didn't want to hear if her husband beat her or her children ran off. Because then he would have to do something about them.

"I'm just gonna escort my new friend here," he nodded to Blah, "home. He seems a bit under the weather." He stood up, brushing by the waitress with deliberate curtness and used one arm to hoist Blah up. He used the other arm to grab his cross, shrugging to settle it into place.

He kept this pose until he was out the door and away from the little window into the bar, then slumped under the dual weights. He staggered a bit until he found a bench. He shook Blah off onto the ground with a shimmy, then sat on the bench. "Blah, hey you, wake up!" Wolfwood kicked the prone man.

"Blergh," came the response.

"Oh well then, we'll just rest here for a second." Wolfwood mildly considered leaving Blah there on the ground. Instead he took out his water bottle and emptied its contents onto Blah's head. "Where am I taking you?"

That elicited a mournful moan from the prone Blah. Wolfwood gave him a second, then kicked him again. "Where am I taking you?" he asked again. He thought Blah might be sober enough to understand the question this time. In any case, he looked much more alert, sputtering as he pulled himself up into a sitting position.

"Why are you kicking me?" asked Blah blearily. He flailed his hand out and ineffectually slapped Wolfwood's leg.

"I'm trying to get you home. I need to know where home is." Wolfwood was annoyed at the amount of time he'd already spent on the drunken Blah, so he kept his voice louder than was strictly necessary.

"I can't go home," Blah replied mournfully, "not until I bring Bessie back." He appeared to have sobered up a bit during his nap.

Wolfwood again considered leaving Blah, but instead felt compelled to ask, "Who's Bessie? And why can't you go home until you find her?"

"I can't go home because my wife is too upset. She'll cry," Blah said, shuddering at the apparent horror of this. "I need to find Bessie." To Wolfwood's dismay, Blah actually started crying at the thought, thick tears trickling down his brown cheeks. "I would pay anything to get her back."

Missing kid, thought Wolfwood, that sucks. He had seen too many kids separated from their parents over the years, and apparently this parent actually wanted the kid around. His opinion of Blah began to raise a bit. No one could blame a man for drinking after something like that.

"Hey, snap out of it." Blah had not stopped crying, in fact, the rate of his tears had increased and his breathing had become labored. "God man, pull yourself together." Wolfwood's words seemed to have no effect. "I'll help you find Bessie if you just shut up."

That spur of the moment declaration paused Blah's tears. "You could do that preacher man?"

Oh brother. Wolfwood smacked his head against his hand, trying not to look at the hopeful gleam that had appeared in Blah's eyes. "You mentioned a reward?" he asked, trying the weasel his way out of giving this guy any hope. Hope was too precious a commodity to waste on this guy. He knew how few children ever returned home.

"30,000 doubledollars," said Blah. And oh, that did make a difference. It wouldn't hurt to try anyway. Maybe Vash was rubbing off on him, leading him to try to help the needy. He was, after all, a priest.

"Take me home to your wife," Wolfwood said with a smile. "I'll need to talk to her as well."

Blah's house was huge, and brown, of course - everything in this goddamn town was too brown. As they approached, Wolfwood noted two sets of eyes peering down from two different windows in the house. He gave a jaunty little wave to one and feigned tipping his imaginary hat to the other. Blah, still rubbing his eyes, didn't seem to notice.

One set of eyes disappeared. Their owner had apparently migrated to the door, as it swung open when Wolfwood and Blah neared it. "How is she?" Blah asked, addressing the young woman who opened the door. The maid, Wolfwood assumed, noting her apron and servile demeanor. Her eyes were bloodshot. Blah wasn't the only one missing Bessie.

"She's fine sir," the maid replied.

Blah made to move forward, then turned to Wolfwood. "You stay here; Sally will take care of you." He stiffened his shoulders then walked up the stairs that curved up out of the foyer.

"Well hello, Sally," said Wolfwood, giving her a smile. She was a pretty thing, with blue eyes that, an oasis in this brown dessert.

"You are a preacher?" Sally's hands were twisting around in her apron, scrunching the fabric; every line of her screamed tension.

"Yes, I am." He whipped out his confessional in a practiced move and presented it to her. "Do you have any sins you want to confess to me?"

Sally burst into tears. It figured, it was that kind of day. He patted her back, trying to shush her. Wolfwood glanced around, and then led her into a richly appointed sitting room. "It's all right, I told your boss I was going to help him find Bessie, and I will," he proclaimed. This just made her cry harder.

"But it's my fault that Bessie is missing," Sally explained in a very soft voice, barely louder than her heaving breath. "I knew how she was getting out and I didn't say anything when he closed the window up. I didn't think. I had seen her playing with the neighbor boy, so I let him in to see her. I didn't think he'd take her." The words were pouring out of her at a steady clip now. Wolfwood didn't like what he heard.

"Your boss kept her locked up in here? And kept her from her friend?" Wolfwood's outrage made itself known in his incredulous tone.

"Of course he did," said Sally, 'Bessie was an indoor cat.'

A cat. A fucking cat. Blah was willing to pay him 30,000 doubledollars to find a cat. Wolfwood shook his head disbelievingly. Belatedly he notice that above the mantel was a huge portrait of a white cat lounging against a purple backdrop. Bessie, he assumed.

Sally was still talking, "I kept seeing her slip in that back window, but she just seemed so happy. But he says he lost her, and I believe him. He would have brought her back." She took a pause for breath.

Wolfwood began talking before Sally could open her mouth again. "Why don't you show me that window?"

Sally nodded and stood up, pausing to fluff the pillows that she had been sitting on before leading him back into a small room. It was sparser than the public areas, though neat. There was a bed against the wall opposite a small window. Sally's room, thought Wolfwood.

He walked over and inspected the window. It was locked fast, Sally was right about that, but what Wolfwood cared about was the view. He saw a young boy peering around the alley bordering the house. His face was crumpled.

"That the boy who took the cat?" He asked Sally. She joined him at the window and nodded.

"Mike," Sally said. "He liked playing with her. His parents don't like animals. He got so upset when Bessie stopped leaving the house." She took a breath then continued. "I let him in to see her. I left them alone, and the next thing I know, they are both outside. I saw Mike chasing Bessie."

From Mike's hunched shoulders and tearbrimmed eyes, Wolfwood assumed Mike was still chasing after Bessie. So the cat was roaming free. Wolfwood was going to find her.

Three hours later, Wolfwood was less keen on this job. He had been wandering for hours, searching for that stupid cat. It was not his idea of a fun time, but, hey, the 30,000 doubledollars would go a long way at the orphanage. So he kept his eye open for any flash of white fur.

But he couldn't blame the cat for wanting to get out of that house. It had an air of stifling grandeur, more like a cage than a home. Maybe the cat was better- "Son of bitch."

Up on top of a small shack was Bessie, white fur gleaming in the sunlight. She looked just as regal there as she did in that portrait. She also was acting like royalty, and refused to acknowledge Wolfwood's attempts at coaxing her down. Circling the shack, Wolfwood thought of a plan of attack.

He set down his cross and with a leap he began scaling the sides of the shack. Splinters bit into his hands. He cursed under his breath and prayed fervently that the cat would stay still. As Wolfwood pulled himself onto the roof the wood began creaking ominously. "Oh no," said Wolfwood, "don't do this to me."

He got one hand on the cat before the structure began to collapse. Bessie and Wolfwood jumped off the roof separately, each trying to escape the reach of rotten boards. Wolfwood landed on his ass. The cat landed on Vash. It was just like him to appear out of nowhere to see Wolfwood fall.

"Hey friend," Vash said, smiling, "thanks for the help finding Milky."

"Milky!" exclaimed Wolfwood, "who or what is Milky?"

"The cat," replied Vash.

"No, no, no, and no," Wolfwood said. "That cat is Bessie. I am taking her home now and getting the nice reward."

Vash's smile hardened. He looked at Wolfwood in that ridiculous way he did whenever Wolfwood disappointed him. "A little boy has been looking for Milky. They play together. He rescued her and now he misses her."

"Oh no, you don't get to look at me like that, Vash. I am in the right this time. Bessie has a home, a rich home. Her owners even have a ridiculous portrait of her hanging over their mantel." Wolfwood glared at Vash. "Give me the cat.'

"No," said Vash, "I'm taking Milky back to Mike. He was so sad to be missing his cat. He cried, Wolfwood." His face was doing that thing again. Vash's eyes took over the span of his face. He looked like he was about to start sobbing himself.

"Everyone is crying today. The whole town is crying about that cat," Wolfwood muttered to himself. He pulled himself up from the remains of the shack. He raised his voive loud enough for Vash to hear, "Mike is a catnapper."

"So you're going to take a reward for returning something you know doesn't want to go back." God, that wasn't even subtle. Vash had turned away and was walking back towards the main part of town. "He was just trying to make her happy."

Wolfwood picked up his cross from among the rubble and began striding after Vash, who lengthened his stride in response. The bastard was pointedly ignoring Wolfwood.

Wolfwood put on a burst of speed and laid his hand on Vash's shoulder. "It's just a stupid cat. A stupid cat worth too much to too many people." The tension in Vash's back slid out. Vash loosened his grip on Bessie. Wolfwood took that as his cue. He gently transferred Bessie from Vash to himself. "A cat who gets to go home to people who love her."

Wolfwood turned in a southerly direction, not looking back to see if Vash was following. When he got Blah's house, and God, Wolfwood still didn't know his real name, he knocked on the door. Sally opened it and shrieked with joy. She grabbed Bessie from his arms and ran into the house. Wolfwood smiled and followed her in.

Later, while Blah was getting Wolfwood his reward, he snuck back into Sally's room and jimmied the new lock on the window. The window swung in an arch outwards, just enough to let a cat through. Just because the cat was home didn't mean it wanted to stay that way.


End file.
